#BlogTour, #BookSpotlight and #Giveaway–> Three Rules by Marie Drake
Book Details:
Page Count: 296
Genre: Fiction
Publication Date: Sep 24, 2013
Copyright: Marie Drake 2013
2013ISBN/EAN13: 1492772909 / 9781492772903
Kindle AISN: B00F0OO6WO
Three Rules
– The Blurb:
– The Blurb:
Hope Wellman has a childhood full
of horrific memories, a bone chilling recurring nightmare, and a persistent
paranoid sense of being followed that she would rather keep repressed.
of horrific memories, a bone chilling recurring nightmare, and a persistent
paranoid sense of being followed that she would rather keep repressed.
Is evil
reaching from beyond the grave to capture the tattered remnants of her soul
once and for all, is it only a machination of her disturbed mind,
or is there
something happening more sinister than even she can imagine?
reaching from beyond the grave to capture the tattered remnants of her soul
once and for all, is it only a machination of her disturbed mind,
or is there
something happening more sinister than even she can imagine?
Attending the funeral of her abuser
is the first step in putting her life back together. She struggles with the
fact she never told anyone what happened to her, and that the grave they are
mourning over is empty. She’d find it a lot easier to move on and believe in
the future if he were in the box, ready to be covered with dirt. She fears the
last thread of her sanity has snapped when she sees Lucas everywhere she turns,
and can’t escape a recurring nightmare. Is her tormentor alive, or is she
imagining it? Is her dream triggered by past fears or is it a prediction of the
future?
is the first step in putting her life back together. She struggles with the
fact she never told anyone what happened to her, and that the grave they are
mourning over is empty. She’d find it a lot easier to move on and believe in
the future if he were in the box, ready to be covered with dirt. She fears the
last thread of her sanity has snapped when she sees Lucas everywhere she turns,
and can’t escape a recurring nightmare. Is her tormentor alive, or is she
imagining it? Is her dream triggered by past fears or is it a prediction of the
future?
Quoted from Three Rules
:
:
“I have learned three rules in my
life:
1.) The most dangerous people in the world are not always strangers.
2.)
The scariest things imaginable are not those that can kill you, but those you
can live through. And probably the most prominent:
3.) The most horrible
possibility is not what could happen to you, but what you could become – I
became a killer.”
life:
1.) The most dangerous people in the world are not always strangers.
2.)
The scariest things imaginable are not those that can kill you, but those you
can live through. And probably the most prominent:
3.) The most horrible
possibility is not what could happen to you, but what you could become – I
became a killer.”
~Hope Wellman
Excerpt From Three Rules
:
:
Prologue
*Lucas Wellman*
Lucas picked up the journal and read from it: Years can fly by in an
instant when you’re enjoying something. Time sprouts golden wings and races
off. When you are waiting for something, those wings turn to lead and time
drags the heavy burden slowly. I glimpse the future – golden on the horizon now
– and I bask in the glow of it.
instant when you’re enjoying something. Time sprouts golden wings and races
off. When you are waiting for something, those wings turn to lead and time
drags the heavy burden slowly. I glimpse the future – golden on the horizon now
– and I bask in the glow of it.
I feel my skin blaze with remembrance.
My passion spills out in ink over the pages. It is beautiful – a work of art,
really. Only one will truly satiate my need. The others lead only to temporary
satisfaction. It thrills me with anticipation – finally obtaining my ultimate
desire. It has been so long since I was able to touch her smooth soft skin.
Years have passed since my lips felt her mouth. I take a deep breath and recall
the intoxicating scent of fear mingled with the flowery fragrance of her hair.
I run my tongue over my lips and taste the salt of her tears. I crave her and
only I will have her. The reward for my patience will not be denied.
My passion spills out in ink over the pages. It is beautiful – a work of art,
really. Only one will truly satiate my need. The others lead only to temporary
satisfaction. It thrills me with anticipation – finally obtaining my ultimate
desire. It has been so long since I was able to touch her smooth soft skin.
Years have passed since my lips felt her mouth. I take a deep breath and recall
the intoxicating scent of fear mingled with the flowery fragrance of her hair.
I run my tongue over my lips and taste the salt of her tears. I crave her and
only I will have her. The reward for my patience will not be denied.
I was drawn in by batted eyelashes and
shy smiles. I was enticed by innocence, spurred to claim it. I was unable to
resist the burgeoning sense of power that washed over me when I took it. But
this girl was not innocent – the housekeeper’s daughter. She liked it; she
wanted it. She tricked me as it seems easy for young girls to do. I can’t be
blamed that sirens in angelic childlike form lull me into their traps. I’m too
close to my dream for these insignificant people to become hurdles I must
clear.
shy smiles. I was enticed by innocence, spurred to claim it. I was unable to
resist the burgeoning sense of power that washed over me when I took it. But
this girl was not innocent – the housekeeper’s daughter. She liked it; she
wanted it. She tricked me as it seems easy for young girls to do. I can’t be
blamed that sirens in angelic childlike form lull me into their traps. I’m too
close to my dream for these insignificant people to become hurdles I must
clear.
A knock at the door interrupted him. “Who is it?” he called.
“It’s Michael,” came from
behind the door.
behind the door.
“Come in,” Lucas said. He
didn’t feel up to dealing with this. Michael was becoming very needy. Lucas
would be glad when he didn’t have to listen to his sniveling demands any
longer.
didn’t feel up to dealing with this. Michael was becoming very needy. Lucas
would be glad when he didn’t have to listen to his sniveling demands any
longer.
Michael opened the library door. Lucas realized he was still holding the
journal. He quickly shoved it under some papers on a table. “What brings you
here, Michael?” he asked impatiently.
journal. He quickly shoved it under some papers on a table. “What brings you
here, Michael?” he asked impatiently.
“Have you thought about
my proposition yet?” Michael inquired as he leaned against the desk.
my proposition yet?” Michael inquired as he leaned against the desk.
Lucas poured him some brandy to buy a little time. Michael took the
glass from him, “None for you?” he asked.
glass from him, “None for you?” he asked.
“I save it for guests,”
Lucas told him. He smiled at Michael, rubbed his chin as though he was
considering his plan. He would not – could not – entertain it. Michael’s
proposition was based on a lot of false assumptions. Michael thought he knew
things. He thought Lucas would allow financial gain to navigate his path; greed
would triumph and Lucas would align with his idea. But Lucas didn’t lust after
money. These dirty secrets that Michael wanted to use to extort money – Lucas
was unraveling them in an attempt to seize what he wanted: his father’s
appreciation, and the object of his affection.
Lucas told him. He smiled at Michael, rubbed his chin as though he was
considering his plan. He would not – could not – entertain it. Michael’s
proposition was based on a lot of false assumptions. Michael thought he knew
things. He thought Lucas would allow financial gain to navigate his path; greed
would triumph and Lucas would align with his idea. But Lucas didn’t lust after
money. These dirty secrets that Michael wanted to use to extort money – Lucas
was unraveling them in an attempt to seize what he wanted: his father’s
appreciation, and the object of his affection.
Sadly, Lucas’s father passed away and took his unpronounced praise with
him. Too bad for him – he was tangled in the web, lured there by the glittering
possibilities: his father could be proud of him, love him, or at least just
thank him. One dream was still alive; he still had a chance to take her.
him. Too bad for him – he was tangled in the web, lured there by the glittering
possibilities: his father could be proud of him, love him, or at least just
thank him. One dream was still alive; he still had a chance to take her.
There was another knock at the door. “Now what?” Lucas grouched.
He opened the door to find Alva. “Sorry, Mr. Wellman, there’s a delivery
for you,” she said.
for you,” she said.
“Excuse me, Michael, I
have to take care of this,” Lucas told him.
have to take care of this,” Lucas told him.
He signed for the delivery and took the package to his office. He broke
the seal and pulled out the pages, scanned them quickly to be sure they were
what he expected. He was thoroughly pleased. He tucked them between two large
books and went back to the office. Michael left. He must have tired of waiting.
Patience was Lucas’s strength, not Michael’s. He walked to the desk to retrieve
the journal and found it also disappeared. Michael was more clever than given
credit for, but probably not smart enough to put the pieces together – there
were no names in the journal. Michael didn’t have all the information.
the seal and pulled out the pages, scanned them quickly to be sure they were
what he expected. He was thoroughly pleased. He tucked them between two large
books and went back to the office. Michael left. He must have tired of waiting.
Patience was Lucas’s strength, not Michael’s. He walked to the desk to retrieve
the journal and found it also disappeared. Michael was more clever than given
credit for, but probably not smart enough to put the pieces together – there
were no names in the journal. Michael didn’t have all the information.
Lucas went back to the library and retrieved the papers. He locked them
in the drawer with the other evidence and decided to take action earlier than
originally planned.
in the drawer with the other evidence and decided to take action earlier than
originally planned.
He picked up the phone and arranged to have his boat placed in the water
while it was still warm enough. One more phone call and he was out the door
headed to the dock.
while it was still warm enough. One more phone call and he was out the door
headed to the dock.
He chilled champagne – it was a celebration of destiny after all. He
removed his cufflinks, set them by the bottle, and was rolling up his sleeves
when a noise alerted him that he had company. He turned with a smile, “I knew
you’d come.”
removed his cufflinks, set them by the bottle, and was rolling up his sleeves
when a noise alerted him that he had company. He turned with a smile, “I knew
you’d come.”
Chapter 1
*An Empty Grave*
I want to spit on his grave, but I won’t. That would cause the
surrounding people to be offended and confused, all these people who didn’t
truly know him but honor him at this service. I hold my frame as stiff as a
board beneath the dark, rumbling sky full of churning clouds – the perfect
weather to send him off. I twist my buttons trying to make sure they all point
in the same direction. It’s a trivial thing to be focused on at a grave site,
but my obsessiveness won’t allow me to stop until I fix them all.
surrounding people to be offended and confused, all these people who didn’t
truly know him but honor him at this service. I hold my frame as stiff as a
board beneath the dark, rumbling sky full of churning clouds – the perfect
weather to send him off. I twist my buttons trying to make sure they all point
in the same direction. It’s a trivial thing to be focused on at a grave site,
but my obsessiveness won’t allow me to stop until I fix them all.
I guess most people would be sad attending two family members’ funerals
so close together. I’m not. We buried Grandfather Leonard not long ago. I
didn’t cry. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know what I was missing by not knowing
him. I don’t have any grandparents on my mother’s side either. I wasn’t his
real grandchild anyway – and he never fussed over his own children – so why
would he fuss over their children? I’m wearing the same black dress. My black
hat covers my long blonde hair, fashioned into a bun. A veil conceals my face.
I’m not crying for the loss of this man either, but no one can tell. Another
rumble of thunder sounds and lightning crackles through the clouds. It seems
appropriate that the sky swell up and spit on him for me. The pearly gates will
not open to welcome him. No, he will not spend a single moment of eternity in a
peaceful state.
so close together. I’m not. We buried Grandfather Leonard not long ago. I
didn’t cry. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know what I was missing by not knowing
him. I don’t have any grandparents on my mother’s side either. I wasn’t his
real grandchild anyway – and he never fussed over his own children – so why
would he fuss over their children? I’m wearing the same black dress. My black
hat covers my long blonde hair, fashioned into a bun. A veil conceals my face.
I’m not crying for the loss of this man either, but no one can tell. Another
rumble of thunder sounds and lightning crackles through the clouds. It seems
appropriate that the sky swell up and spit on him for me. The pearly gates will
not open to welcome him. No, he will not spend a single moment of eternity in a
peaceful state.
There is no open casket, no public viewing. The authorities recovered
his boat with evidence of some blood, a few strands of hair, and empty alcohol
bottles. It was a logical conclusion that he fell, bumped his head, and went
into the water. They did not recover his body. Too bad, I may find some morbid
sense of satisfaction seeing him laying there in a coffin dead.
his boat with evidence of some blood, a few strands of hair, and empty alcohol
bottles. It was a logical conclusion that he fell, bumped his head, and went
into the water. They did not recover his body. Too bad, I may find some morbid
sense of satisfaction seeing him laying there in a coffin dead.
This ceremony over an empty grave seems very strange. Among all these
tearful people mourning and sharing embraces, I separate myself. I look at
them. I can see the fear in some of their faces. He died very young. They’re
afraid of death.
tearful people mourning and sharing embraces, I separate myself. I look at
them. I can see the fear in some of their faces. He died very young. They’re
afraid of death.
I scan the cemetery. So many headstones, so many graves, they all contain
secrets – even the empty ones. I stand alone, twisting these buttons, counting
the reasons I’m glad he’s dead.
secrets – even the empty ones. I stand alone, twisting these buttons, counting
the reasons I’m glad he’s dead.
How far can a person’s memory reach? I search back, willing myself to
find an earlier memory, but always come up with the same. I must have others,
but when I replay my past it freezes there and repeats like a stuttering
compact disk at around the age of three.
find an earlier memory, but always come up with the same. I must have others,
but when I replay my past it freezes there and repeats like a stuttering
compact disk at around the age of three.
It was an early fall day. Warm sunshine heated the top of my head which
made the breeze feel cooler on my cheeks. Brilliantly clear skies stretched
above me as far as I could see. Puffy white clouds — that I viewed as different
animals — were arranged like works of art across the blue canvas, and I watched
them march away into the distance.
made the breeze feel cooler on my cheeks. Brilliantly clear skies stretched
above me as far as I could see. Puffy white clouds — that I viewed as different
animals — were arranged like works of art across the blue canvas, and I watched
them march away into the distance.
There were vibrant colored leaves swirling through the air. They sailed
in circles, landed at my feet, and were picked up again to float like orange,
red, and yellow butterflies to a new perch. One could mistake this for a good
memory, a happy memory. Behind the pretty facade lays the ugliness of the true
event — the beginning of the end.
in circles, landed at my feet, and were picked up again to float like orange,
red, and yellow butterflies to a new perch. One could mistake this for a good
memory, a happy memory. Behind the pretty facade lays the ugliness of the true
event — the beginning of the end.
The colors and the sunshine are vivid, but the rest of the memory is dim
and vague – very fuzzy – maybe because I want it that way. He took my hand and
led me to a small, dark, quiet room. I felt a bit of anticipation, excitement.
Perhaps a surprise? I heard a strange noise. My stomach felt very sick. It
feels the same now as I recall the moment.
and vague – very fuzzy – maybe because I want it that way. He took my hand and
led me to a small, dark, quiet room. I felt a bit of anticipation, excitement.
Perhaps a surprise? I heard a strange noise. My stomach felt very sick. It
feels the same now as I recall the moment.
I didn’t understand what was happening.
I turned to run. I wanted my mom, but I was pulled back. I gagged, coughed, and
choked. I was yanked out into the light and pulled to the bathroom. My mom came
then, and I felt a sense of relief. I wanted to tell her what happened, but,
what did happen? I didn’t know the words. I didn’t know how to describe it.
Besides, I was gagging so hard that no words would form.
I turned to run. I wanted my mom, but I was pulled back. I gagged, coughed, and
choked. I was yanked out into the light and pulled to the bathroom. My mom came
then, and I felt a sense of relief. I wanted to tell her what happened, but,
what did happen? I didn’t know the words. I didn’t know how to describe it.
Besides, I was gagging so hard that no words would form.
I heard his voice. He told my mother he
found me that way – acting like I would vomit. My mom held me over the toilet
and smoothed my hair back. She told me it was okay. ‘Let it out,’ she said – I
did. She washed me off and wiped my face with a cool cloth.
found me that way – acting like I would vomit. My mom held me over the toilet
and smoothed my hair back. She told me it was okay. ‘Let it out,’ she said – I
did. She washed me off and wiped my face with a cool cloth.
She dressed me in my pajamas and tucked me into bed. Sitting up with me
to read me stories, she rubbed my belly and held my hand – such a good mommy. She would have fought the entire world to keep me safe, but, there
wasn’t anything out in the world that was more dangerous than being under that
roof. She felt me start to relax and doze off. I sensed that she was
removing my hand from hers. I cried again, not wanting her to leave me alone.
to read me stories, she rubbed my belly and held my hand – such a good mommy. She would have fought the entire world to keep me safe, but, there
wasn’t anything out in the world that was more dangerous than being under that
roof. She felt me start to relax and doze off. I sensed that she was
removing my hand from hers. I cried again, not wanting her to leave me alone.
For a long time after that, I followed my mom everywhere. I didn’t want
to be left alone. No, it wasn’t safe to be alone. I know it probably got on her
nerves that she couldn’t take a step without me being underfoot. I remember her
complaining sometimes, and adults trying to explain it using separation anxiety
and such terms.
to be left alone. No, it wasn’t safe to be alone. I know it probably got on her
nerves that she couldn’t take a step without me being underfoot. I remember her
complaining sometimes, and adults trying to explain it using separation anxiety
and such terms.
The bereaved move forward and startle me from my painful thoughts. They
begin laying flowers on the site, whispering last prayers and farewells. I
stand still. I feel a hand at my back; it drags me further away from my
memories. My mother, Carol, is beside me. She has her hair, as blonde as mine,
pulled back and pinned at the nape of her neck. She also wears a hat, but it
has no veil. Similar in size and stature, we could easily be mistaken for one
another from the back or at a distance. I look into her arctic blue eyes, a
shade paler than my own, and see no tears falling, but the residue of earlier
emotions is not quite dry on her cheeks.
begin laying flowers on the site, whispering last prayers and farewells. I
stand still. I feel a hand at my back; it drags me further away from my
memories. My mother, Carol, is beside me. She has her hair, as blonde as mine,
pulled back and pinned at the nape of her neck. She also wears a hat, but it
has no veil. Similar in size and stature, we could easily be mistaken for one
another from the back or at a distance. I look into her arctic blue eyes, a
shade paler than my own, and see no tears falling, but the residue of earlier
emotions is not quite dry on her cheeks.
I look to my step father, tall with broad shoulders, graying brown hair,
grief floods his usually sparkling aquamarine eyes. He stands front and center,
flowers in his strong hands, waiting to place them on the grave of his only
brother. I admire this man who married my mother and brought us out of poverty.
Yes, we were poor before Luther Wellman came along. We lived in a trailer park
in a very tiny mobile home. We didn’t have much, but we had each other. That is
the story – the way my mom tells it, anyway. I don’t remember my real father,
or a time before I was Hope Wellman. My step father loves me. He gave me his
last name, a home, and a family. He’s thoroughly devoted to my mother.
grief floods his usually sparkling aquamarine eyes. He stands front and center,
flowers in his strong hands, waiting to place them on the grave of his only
brother. I admire this man who married my mother and brought us out of poverty.
Yes, we were poor before Luther Wellman came along. We lived in a trailer park
in a very tiny mobile home. We didn’t have much, but we had each other. That is
the story – the way my mom tells it, anyway. I don’t remember my real father,
or a time before I was Hope Wellman. My step father loves me. He gave me his
last name, a home, and a family. He’s thoroughly devoted to my mother.
It could have been different if my mother never met Luther. Our lives
would be awful if she married my real father – an abusive womanizer. He left
colorful evidence of his violent tyrannical binges upon Mom’s pretty alabaster
face and body on many occasions. He didn’t stop the abuse when he knew she was
pregnant.
would be awful if she married my real father – an abusive womanizer. He left
colorful evidence of his violent tyrannical binges upon Mom’s pretty alabaster
face and body on many occasions. He didn’t stop the abuse when he knew she was
pregnant.
Mom decided to run – for her sake and her unborn child. Of course, that
is also as told by my mom. I couldn’t personally verify it. The remnants of
terror and regret haunting my mother’s gaze as she imparted this piece of her
past convinced me of its veracity. The history and circumstance in which I
received my name; I was my mother’s hope for the future.
is also as told by my mom. I couldn’t personally verify it. The remnants of
terror and regret haunting my mother’s gaze as she imparted this piece of her
past convinced me of its veracity. The history and circumstance in which I
received my name; I was my mother’s hope for the future.
Mom was working two jobs to pay our way in the world. She earned enough
to afford that little slice of trailer park heaven we called home, and give our
elderly neighbor a small amount to care for me when she was working nights as a
waitress at a tiny little diner. She could bring me with her to her day job as
a cleaning lady for the Bishops.
to afford that little slice of trailer park heaven we called home, and give our
elderly neighbor a small amount to care for me when she was working nights as a
waitress at a tiny little diner. She could bring me with her to her day job as
a cleaning lady for the Bishops.
The Bishop family was very good to my mother while they employed her.
The pay wasn’t spectacular, and the job was doing menial tasks, but they
allowed her to bring me with her to work. They let me play in the nursery with
their little boy and girl under the supervision of their nanny as part of my
mother’s compensation. This meant she could be close at hand and didn’t have to
pay a sitter for both days and nights. This was the beginning, how Mom became
part of a fairytale – a Cinderella of sorts.
The pay wasn’t spectacular, and the job was doing menial tasks, but they
allowed her to bring me with her to work. They let me play in the nursery with
their little boy and girl under the supervision of their nanny as part of my
mother’s compensation. This meant she could be close at hand and didn’t have to
pay a sitter for both days and nights. This was the beginning, how Mom became
part of a fairytale – a Cinderella of sorts.
Frederick Bishop and Luther Wellman were – and are – best friends and
business partners. Luther Wellman’s father had more money than he could spend –
he has told me as much. Luther didn’t want a handout. His own mother had come
from humble beginnings. His maternal grandfather had built his own business
from the ground up. Their money wasn’t inherited; it was earned. That was the
way Luther wanted to build his own wealth. He didn’t want to rely on his
family’s fortune.
business partners. Luther Wellman’s father had more money than he could spend –
he has told me as much. Luther didn’t want a handout. His own mother had come
from humble beginnings. His maternal grandfather had built his own business
from the ground up. Their money wasn’t inherited; it was earned. That was the
way Luther wanted to build his own wealth. He didn’t want to rely on his
family’s fortune.
When his college friend, Frederick Bishop, offered him an opportunity to
rebuild a business – with an investment of a lot of hard work and a bit of cash
– Luther eagerly grabbed it with both hands. He loved the idea of rebuilding an
old hotel. He dreamed of a chain of hotels across the state, maybe even across
the country one day.
rebuild a business – with an investment of a lot of hard work and a bit of cash
– Luther eagerly grabbed it with both hands. He loved the idea of rebuilding an
old hotel. He dreamed of a chain of hotels across the state, maybe even across
the country one day.
It wouldn’t be one of the posh hotels his father would prefer. It would
be a nice enough hotel, where people could get a good night’s rest and pleasant
service – a comfortable place that was affordable.
be a nice enough hotel, where people could get a good night’s rest and pleasant
service – a comfortable place that was affordable.
Luther envisioned a place where you could stay for a night or a week,
close to conveniences and attractions but off the beaten path so you could
still have privacy. He wanted his guests to have the feeling of getting away
from it all – a luxury vacation at a better price. He set off on this journey
with Frederick and made all their plans a reality. They own a chain of hotels
called The HideAways.
close to conveniences and attractions but off the beaten path so you could
still have privacy. He wanted his guests to have the feeling of getting away
from it all – a luxury vacation at a better price. He set off on this journey
with Frederick and made all their plans a reality. They own a chain of hotels
called The HideAways.
Luther often talks about the day Frederick married Miriam. He tells me
it was the day that sparked his dream of my mother, or at least the idea of
her. He stood up as best man and gave a tear inducing toast at the reception.
He envied his best friend’s discovery of a soul mate. They were so happy
together. Frederick’s life became complete. He had achieved his financial
goals, and his personal ones. Luther first tried to fill the void by having
Lucas come to work with him, but Lucas was still bent on capturing the
attention – or maybe affection – of their father. Lucas went to work for
Leonard Wellman at the bank instead, hoping to feel his father’s pride beam
warm upon him.
it was the day that sparked his dream of my mother, or at least the idea of
her. He stood up as best man and gave a tear inducing toast at the reception.
He envied his best friend’s discovery of a soul mate. They were so happy
together. Frederick’s life became complete. He had achieved his financial
goals, and his personal ones. Luther first tried to fill the void by having
Lucas come to work with him, but Lucas was still bent on capturing the
attention – or maybe affection – of their father. Lucas went to work for
Leonard Wellman at the bank instead, hoping to feel his father’s pride beam
warm upon him.
Luther and Frederick regularly met to handle business matters at the
Bishop home. As Luther tells it, he walked into the Bishop home expecting to
find Frederick and Miriam in the kitchen, but he bumped into Mom, who was all
business in her housekeeper’s dress and apron, wielding a sponge in her rubber
gloved hands and speaking to a small blonde child, a perfect little angel – me.
Bishop home. As Luther tells it, he walked into the Bishop home expecting to
find Frederick and Miriam in the kitchen, but he bumped into Mom, who was all
business in her housekeeper’s dress and apron, wielding a sponge in her rubber
gloved hands and speaking to a small blonde child, a perfect little angel – me.
Mom apologized without need; it was he who almost bowled her over. He
couldn’t manage to get any words past the lump in his throat. Whenever Luther
tells the story, he imparts how thoroughly unimpressed Mom seemed to be as she
excused herself with a polite smile and went back to her work.
couldn’t manage to get any words past the lump in his throat. Whenever Luther
tells the story, he imparts how thoroughly unimpressed Mom seemed to be as she
excused herself with a polite smile and went back to her work.
Mom never gave him a second glance while he stood rooted to the same
spot on the kitchen floor trying to come up with a reason to be there. His
magical rendition of their fateful meeting always relayed the same sentiment:
He would get to know her no matter how long it took.
spot on the kitchen floor trying to come up with a reason to be there. His
magical rendition of their fateful meeting always relayed the same sentiment:
He would get to know her no matter how long it took.
Mom didn’t come around easily if you ask him. No, she found it difficult
to trust his intentions. Luther says he flirted and wooed her until she
couldn’t resist his charming advances any longer. She was hesitant to take him
seriously because she didn’t want to lose her job. She couldn’t lose her job.
to trust his intentions. Luther says he flirted and wooed her until she
couldn’t resist his charming advances any longer. She was hesitant to take him
seriously because she didn’t want to lose her job. She couldn’t lose her job.
The Bishops didn’t approve of Luther’s interest in their housekeeper.
They also didn’t want anything to happen that would cause a rift between them
and their employee. Luther paid no attention to their castigation. Eventually,
the Bishops relented with their disparaging remarks to Luther believing his
interest would wither and the affair would end.
They also didn’t want anything to happen that would cause a rift between them
and their employee. Luther paid no attention to their castigation. Eventually,
the Bishops relented with their disparaging remarks to Luther believing his
interest would wither and the affair would end.
To everyone’s surprise, Mom and Luther’s romance blossomed. Luther fully
accepted me. So it was: a new life, a happy family. I can never repay Luther
for his kindness to me and my mother. If Mom didn’t meet Luther, we would still
be in that tiny little mobile home struggling to make ends meet, but then I
also wouldn’t know the personal terror inflicted on me by his half brother –
terror I never shared with another single sole. Luther’s father, Leonard, had
remarried several much younger women. One of these women, Helena, bore him a
son and they named him Lucas.
accepted me. So it was: a new life, a happy family. I can never repay Luther
for his kindness to me and my mother. If Mom didn’t meet Luther, we would still
be in that tiny little mobile home struggling to make ends meet, but then I
also wouldn’t know the personal terror inflicted on me by his half brother –
terror I never shared with another single sole. Luther’s father, Leonard, had
remarried several much younger women. One of these women, Helena, bore him a
son and they named him Lucas.
A drop of rain filters through my veil and lands on my upturned nose.
I’m staring off at the sky. My body is still, the bottom of my black dress is
rustling around my legs. I remain on that piece of grass next to the grave, but
my mind is up there twisting and turning with the clouds. Their slow rolling
movement is hypnotic. I wish my memories would get wrapped up and blow away in
them.
I’m staring off at the sky. My body is still, the bottom of my black dress is
rustling around my legs. I remain on that piece of grass next to the grave, but
my mind is up there twisting and turning with the clouds. Their slow rolling
movement is hypnotic. I wish my memories would get wrapped up and blow away in
them.
Movement on the ground alerts me that Luther and the immediate family
members are filing out of the cemetery. The prayers are over. Everyone is
heading toward their vehicles in somber procession. We are all expected to ride
in a macabre parade to my parents’ home for the repast.
members are filing out of the cemetery. The prayers are over. Everyone is
heading toward their vehicles in somber procession. We are all expected to ride
in a macabre parade to my parents’ home for the repast.
The sky opens up, and it begins to pour. The heavens have been patient
and polite enough to wait for us to finish up before unleashing their fury on
the symbolic resting place of Lucas Wellman.
and polite enough to wait for us to finish up before unleashing their fury on
the symbolic resting place of Lucas Wellman.
I climb in the back seat of the car with my mother and stepfather. No
one speaks. I curl and uncurl an errant strand of my hair around my finger,
stopping with it curled again and rest the back of my hand against my cheek as
I stare out the window at the clouds again. Maybe, after all the distressful
chaos of the day is over, I’ll be able to put the past out of my mind. Maybe
I’ll finally forget. I try to focus on the sound of the rain tapping against
the glass, but can’t drown out my thoughts.
one speaks. I curl and uncurl an errant strand of my hair around my finger,
stopping with it curled again and rest the back of my hand against my cheek as
I stare out the window at the clouds again. Maybe, after all the distressful
chaos of the day is over, I’ll be able to put the past out of my mind. Maybe
I’ll finally forget. I try to focus on the sound of the rain tapping against
the glass, but can’t drown out my thoughts.
I felt excited about starting a new
school for first grade, and joining a new group of kids who didn’t already
think I was weird. That is the best way I can describe it.
school for first grade, and joining a new group of kids who didn’t already
think I was weird. That is the best way I can describe it.
There was a falling out between brothers not long after we moved in with
Luther, or at least that was the impression I got. I was glad. A tiny thought
echoed in the back of my mind: perhaps Luther and Mom knew what happened.
Luther, or at least that was the impression I got. I was glad. A tiny thought
echoed in the back of my mind: perhaps Luther and Mom knew what happened.
I heard some muffled arguments between them. I couldn’t understand what
they were saying, but it felt as if they were arguing about Lucas. I convinced
myself they were. They knew what happened. They knew he was a shameful snake;
that was why he didn’t come around anymore. I hoped he would be banned forever,
but no such luck.
they were saying, but it felt as if they were arguing about Lucas. I convinced
myself they were. They knew what happened. They knew he was a shameful snake;
that was why he didn’t come around anymore. I hoped he would be banned forever,
but no such luck.
He arrived one snowy day near the holidays and wanted to talk with Luther. They locked themselves in the library for a very long time. I
sat in the hall in an alcove out of sight, staring at that door waiting for it
to open. They stood in the hall together and shook hands. I felt the cold fear
crawl over my skin and seep into my veins, spreading slowly through my body.
Its steely fingers clamped around my heart and squeezed it, then plummeted
straight to the bottom of my stomach, sinking like a lead weight. I froze.
Luther reached out to embrace Lucas. He caught a glimpse of me in the alcove
and his eyes found mine. He didn’t look away.
sat in the hall in an alcove out of sight, staring at that door waiting for it
to open. They stood in the hall together and shook hands. I felt the cold fear
crawl over my skin and seep into my veins, spreading slowly through my body.
Its steely fingers clamped around my heart and squeezed it, then plummeted
straight to the bottom of my stomach, sinking like a lead weight. I froze.
Luther reached out to embrace Lucas. He caught a glimpse of me in the alcove
and his eyes found mine. He didn’t look away.
I ran and hid in the attic; it was a
reprieve. Eventually, I had to come down. When darkness fell over my room I was
under the covers of my bed waiting for my living nightmare to restart – praying
it wouldn’t. Shivering, tense, my ears strained to hear the slightest noise:
the creek of the door, footsteps light on the carpet. Alarms rang inside my
head with the nauseating smells of aftershave and brandy.
reprieve. Eventually, I had to come down. When darkness fell over my room I was
under the covers of my bed waiting for my living nightmare to restart – praying
it wouldn’t. Shivering, tense, my ears strained to hear the slightest noise:
the creek of the door, footsteps light on the carpet. Alarms rang inside my
head with the nauseating smells of aftershave and brandy.
Terrifyingly cold hands reached under the covers, pried my hands from
the bedspread I was holding tightly around myself as though it was powerful and
keeping me safe. My hands unwillingly released my shield. It was useless
against that evil. I rested them at my side and closed my eyes, preparing for
the flight of consciousness. I willed it to lift me from that place and take me
somewhere beautiful, somewhere happy, somewhere safe.
the bedspread I was holding tightly around myself as though it was powerful and
keeping me safe. My hands unwillingly released my shield. It was useless
against that evil. I rested them at my side and closed my eyes, preparing for
the flight of consciousness. I willed it to lift me from that place and take me
somewhere beautiful, somewhere happy, somewhere safe.
Those icy hands continued pulling while warnings were whispered. The air
was crushed out of my lungs. Something scraped against my baby soft skin. A wet
mouth, a wickedly hoarse voice crooned praises I couldn’t stand to hear. Long
slender fingers of ice moved along the ends of nerves, each cold spark another
step away from reality. Bile rose, threatening to spew forth, tears were
streaming.
was crushed out of my lungs. Something scraped against my baby soft skin. A wet
mouth, a wickedly hoarse voice crooned praises I couldn’t stand to hear. Long
slender fingers of ice moved along the ends of nerves, each cold spark another
step away from reality. Bile rose, threatening to spew forth, tears were
streaming.
Contempt and cries were bit back, swallowed and pushed down while
defense mechanisms took over. To save sanity, to protect the soul, they
transported the mind far away from what was happening in that room so it would
not experience the horror played out on the flesh and body.
defense mechanisms took over. To save sanity, to protect the soul, they
transported the mind far away from what was happening in that room so it would
not experience the horror played out on the flesh and body.
This sadistic ritual, this feeding on innocence, would take place rather quickly, but it never seemed that
way. When it was over, the contamination of youth was washed away. Last came
horrifying rationalizations that it was special because I belonged to him; he
was preparing me for my future. Damn him for that – more horrible than any
physical act endured; he made me dread what the future held for me.
I glance at Luther, staring out the window at the place of future visits
to lay flowers and remember his only brother. “Life holds wonderful moments
when you think you have far more than you deserve, but it isn’t always fair.
It’s a great unjustness that he left this life so soon,” he says. I disagree
silently within my head; I think it’s the greatest justice ever served.
to lay flowers and remember his only brother. “Life holds wonderful moments
when you think you have far more than you deserve, but it isn’t always fair.
It’s a great unjustness that he left this life so soon,” he says. I disagree
silently within my head; I think it’s the greatest justice ever served.
Luther turns to look at me, and I do my best to appear to be counting
raindrops against the window. He looks worried about me. He knows I don’t have
many experiences with death.
raindrops against the window. He looks worried about me. He knows I don’t have
many experiences with death.
His expression is solemn and serious. He reaches out to touch Mom’s
cheek, and she covers his hand with her own, places it in her lap to smooth his
palm with hers as she rests her head on his shoulder. Luther places his head on
his wife’s head and closes his eyes. “Carol, you and Hope are the blessings of
my life, those things I’m grateful for, the gifts I’m amazed at receiving. I
would not be able to get through this without you,” Luther says as he lifts his
head and grips Mom’s hand a little tighter. She squeezes back as the car
approaches our neighborhood.
About the Author:
cheek, and she covers his hand with her own, places it in her lap to smooth his
palm with hers as she rests her head on his shoulder. Luther places his head on
his wife’s head and closes his eyes. “Carol, you and Hope are the blessings of
my life, those things I’m grateful for, the gifts I’m amazed at receiving. I
would not be able to get through this without you,” Luther says as he lifts his
head and grips Mom’s hand a little tighter. She squeezes back as the car
approaches our neighborhood.
About the Author:
Marie Drake lives with her husband and
their four wonderful sons in a small town near Lake Ontario. They take
advantage of what others deem a vacation spot all year long. Camping and hiking
are some of their favorite family activities. They also enjoy volunteering at
the local animal shelter together, and recently rescued a Jack Russell/Corgi
mix who made their family complete.
their four wonderful sons in a small town near Lake Ontario. They take
advantage of what others deem a vacation spot all year long. Camping and hiking
are some of their favorite family activities. They also enjoy volunteering at
the local animal shelter together, and recently rescued a Jack Russell/Corgi
mix who made their family complete.
Marie is a crochet fanatic. She designs her
own patterns and enjoys crocheting for friends, family, and charity. She loves
to cook and bake, especially when making up a new recipe. Marie is an avid
reader of romance, mystery, and suspense thrillers.
own patterns and enjoys crocheting for friends, family, and charity. She loves
to cook and bake, especially when making up a new recipe. Marie is an avid
reader of romance, mystery, and suspense thrillers.
She is a woman of many interests – and maybe
talents – but will be quick to tell you that her most important and proudest
accomplishment is the part she played in the lives of children. She provided
daycare for over ten years, and she and her husband fostered more than fifteen
children over a five year period.
talents – but will be quick to tell you that her most important and proudest
accomplishment is the part she played in the lives of children. She provided
daycare for over ten years, and she and her husband fostered more than fifteen
children over a five year period.
While juggling all her boys’ sporting events, academic, musical, and
other extra curricular activities, and running a small home based business
designing crochet afghan patterns, Marie tries to squeeze in some time for
writing each day.
other extra curricular activities, and running a small home based business
designing crochet afghan patterns, Marie tries to squeeze in some time for
writing each day.
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